


Greetings, Dearest Detective~

by TheFoolishTrickster



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira is a flirt, Arsene!Akira - Freeform, Arsène Lupin/Sherlock Holmes Au, Basically diamond jack if things got gay, M/M, Set around the early 20th century, Sherlock!Goro, Shuake Big Bang 2020, goro is in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFoolishTrickster/pseuds/TheFoolishTrickster
Summary: In the year 1907, prolific detective Goro Akechi receives a message from a confidant of the elusive thief Akira Kurusu. The aristocratic jazz hall Leblanc, upon the final hour of the evening, would be deprived of a diamond worth the spoils of many bank vaults. When midnight arrives, he will one more battle with his fated rival. The chance to finally bring this powerful criminal to justice may yet present itself tonight.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Shuake Big Bang 2020





	Greetings, Dearest Detective~

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I finished it!  
> This was my written contribution to the Shuake big bang 2020, and the first fic I’ve posted. It’s been a lot of fun. ^-^  
> I’m gonna try to write more stuff going forward too.  
> I am a massive fan of the Arsène books. Go read them, they're really fun. If you have read them, i snuck in a lot of references, so point them out in the comments if you're inclined.

The intoxicating musings of the high class served to temper and mute the sharp wit of intelligent men, music and alcohol conspiring in equal measure to soothe any attempt at critical thought, replacing it with the numbing sweetness of ever-present company and champagne. Goro Akechi tilted the glass in his fingers, eyeing the sparkle of radiant light reflecting off its surface with a tangible disgust as he continued to nurse the accursed beverage. He stared into the depths of the crimson liquid as if it were a verbal slight on his prowess as a detective, mocking him with its invitation to join the rich men of Paris selling their senses to an opiate.  
He would not fold to these offerings of ‘Pleasure’, he was here to make an arrest.

He pulled his cap down as a waiter brushed past the table, wishing to remain incognito for as long as he could. Setting the wine down and pulling his menu up to his eyes, blind to its superfluous contents as the matter at hand hamstrung his attention, irritation flicked across his cold features. He grew weary of this unwieldy criminal, pulling his thoughts around and around in dizzying circles on marionette strings, before vanishing among smoke and mirrors. A criminal - he was sure to be - and yet his continued elusiveness vexed Akechi. How was this infuriating puppeteer able to smear, taunt, degrade him in sardonicism while remaining so far out of reach, plaguing his thoughts in both rise and sleep? He was going to relish the opportunity to clamp his wrists in irons. 

That opportunity may yet present itself tonight.

He pulled his watch from his jacket pocket, its golden chain was, too, glinting under the splendour of the chandelier. Flicking the clasp open he turned a sharp eye on the time. A quarter of an hour to midnight. He closed his eyes, the subtle tick of the minute hand steadying his mind above the rabble. A tip from one of Kurusu’s associates. 

The aristocratic jazz hall Leblanc, upon the final hour of the evening, would be deprived of a diamond worth the spoils of many bank vaults. 

Kurusu’s immutable band…. Ranks of men and women, confidants loyal to a fault. Filled with confidence in their undefeatable leader - would any of his companions truly betray him? It was doubtable, and yet the confession seemed so genuine.  
As time continued to wind itself around the clock, he was stung with the somewhat obvious realisation that he was marching with reckless abandon into a trap. However, he remained undeterred, met with the perhaps equally blunt fact of the night. The idea of crossing swords once again with his rival, at the stroke of midnight no less, filled him with a thrill that bordered on obsession. He knew his pride would compel him to chase the thief to the bitter ends of the earth. 

So perhaps he should get a head start.

He leant back in his chair; the time now rushing to the climax of the conflict between these fated enemies, pushing impatiently past all moments in the way as if it were encouraged by Kurusu’s approach. Five minutes remained now and the detective couldn't deny he festered a primal desire to see the thief again. The swaths of people indulging the delights of French luxury around him formed a veritable army of eyewitnesses. Unknowing champions of the law, they seemingly dashed any hope of the forthcoming heist; and yet he was certain: the diamond would be whisked away like trails of smoke in the night. He was just as certain that the perpetrator would not so easily slip through his fingers. The cards had been laid on the table, and Kurusu was the dealer. Even in his ego, he admitted, he lacked an ace. 

Ever vigilant in his endeavour to slant the odds in his favour, he took stock of his surroundings. The treasure served as the decorative centerpiece of the hall, fixed to the top of a water fountain that seemed to spill splendour from every spout. The jewel had been martyred in its place as a symbol of the aristocracy. Sparkling, radiating from every surface under the omnipresent light of the chandelier; it was the very image of wealth and class that was imbued into all the drunken guests. Thus, it was marred with a stain, destined to remain the enemy of the gentleman burglar, until it was robbed of all glory. It seemed an impossible feat, and yet that was why it was so sure to occur.

Tick, tick tick - stop. The world froze for an imperceptible moment. The stroke of midnight passed subtly on Goro’s watch, the ripples of the moment falling on deaf ears as the attendants continued their blissful merriment around him. He knew that only one man heard these echoes, though perhaps the call was meant for him alone. Perhaps they were the only two men on earth at that moment. The only men aware of the true nature of this duel.

“I'm flattered, Monsieur, truly. Blessed with an audience with the famous detective on this night of greatest importance? I am a very lucky fellow, indeed.”

The voice came as if from a man standing behind a veil. A magician standing back from his stage, presence amplified throughout the auditorium. He was on time, queued to begin with the proceedings.

Akechi rose from his seat so swiftly he was struck with confusion as his head whipped around in a frantic scan of the room. He saw nothing, seemingly rendered blind in his disorientation. That carefree voice sending angry, stinging pricks up his spine.

“Come now, Goro, my dear, don't look so surprised! You know that punctuality is one of my most defined traits. I’m positive you knew I would be here.”

“Show yourself, Kurusu!”

The agent of justice drew his revolver from the inner pocket of his coat, fury coursing through his body as he felt his adversary dragging him by the collar through a game for his own amusement. He couldn't deny the mockery was chafing him.

“Mon Dieu, detective, you do say the strangest things. You command me to show myself yet I am right here before you. And I put so much stock in your analytical abilities…

What are you doing? Don’t wave that thing around like a toy - you are a marksman! A hero of the people and champion of the law against the wicked thief, Akira Kurusu. 

Here! Up here, detective!”

A cooing whistle filled the hall, raising Akechi’s eyes up to the grand marvel of the chandelier. 

“My, my, what a crowd I have drawn. Your friend, Kurusu, is a man of theatre, Akechi. I trust you received my invitation?”

Akira Kurursu, paragon of confidence and the ever-sarcastic gentleman thief, stood atop the shining light fixture, seemingly harvesting all of its grandeur for his own. Far beyond any artificial source adorning the hall, he was the brightest thing in the room. Laughing in pure delight when his eyes met Goro’s, he swept his hat off his head in formal greeting to a long-held companion.

“Oh, how it is a pleasure to see you again, sir! I seldom sleep at night without the company of your splendid person at my side.”

He tapped his walking cane, crossing both his crimson-encased hands over the head and leaning forward over it. The words fell from his smirking lips in a sickly drawl so saturated it made the knuckles under the Englishman’s gloves whiten. Akira’s eyes glinted with sadistic mirth as he felt his rival squirm under his gaze. He was always so very easy to rile up.

“Ah, but you are a very busy man and I have business to tend to, so let us come to blows. I trust your orders are to capture me and hand me over to the law - but, please, shoot as if you wish to kill me.”

Akechi had to admit, he could feel his patience being tugged from him, unwinding like a ribbon because of this man’s pricking arrogance. He despised that playful wit that comprised his demeanour, the persona of the carefree trickster that served as a decoy for what truly struck a wildfire that burned resent in Goro’s soul. It was there as the thief towered up above the hall, flickering in the endless storm of his silver eyes. A deep, calculating intelligence and a gleeful elation in his craft. A keen awareness, and unending confidence that he had the entire world at his heels. It was this that struck him to his very core, compelled him beyond all rationality and sparked his determination. That gaze, the posturing that this criminal indulged in. 

He was certain. This was the one man he refused to lose to. 

He gripped the gun tightly with both hands, training it on his adversary with calm precision. Unwavering in conviction, for he did agree with Akira on a solitary point. He was, indeed, a capable marksman. 

“The game between us is over, Kurusu. You are surrounded on all sides! Your escape is impossible, I suggest you surrender before I am forced to take action.”

The gentleman bowed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“My dearest detective, we have danced this waltz with such frequency. You being the rational and astute man you are, it baffles me that you see my escape as anything but inevitable.” 

Not a wavering flicker of apprehension ever crossed his face. He performed this affair with the ease and joy of a conductor, ever in complete control. 

The noise of the shot ricocheted around the room. Lead tore through the atmosphere in a single point, poised to deliver unrelenting death. Independent of any notions of justice or evil that would inevitably be impressed upon it by the cruel eye of history. Questions of morality, of law and of rebellion, would undoubtedly plague the two men who stood as equals beneath the charming radiance of the aristocracy. The shot stained the conscience of one Goro Akechi, who knew in that moment he had intended to kill his enemy.

This bullet, however, did not puncture the mortal soul of the gentleman thief, did not drag the youthful life from his bones, nor fell the eccentric criminal in a single cloud of gunpowder.

“Oh, fantastic shot, Monsieur Detective! Such precision! No, no, do not waste a single bullet more. As a symbol of our everlasting comradery I will finish the job myself.”

Akira Kurusu had stepped off the chandelier as the trigger was pulled, gripping the rope affixing the grand light to the ceiling as he steadied the heel of one of his boots into the centre of the piece. Half dangling in the air, shining in a shower of crystals, refracted light danced in his eyes. His circular stage swaying gently among the hall’s held breath. Like a flickering flame, mesmerizing in its final moments, or a coil of rope, slowly unfurling, all frayed edges, twirling and winding. Each turn was a foreboding denotation of its fate. The metal point of the shot had pierced through the woven fabric keeping the monument aloft. Akechi’s eyes widened as for a moment he, too, became entranced in watching the rope. A single gossamer strand that held a spider, suspended in the silence.

Then the stage master observed the stands, breathing in the atmosphere as if it were air, as if it were the champagne that flowed through the hall. He found himself positively drunk at the sight of his standing ovation, at the way he had pulled the words so effortlessly from their mouths simply by his presence alone. Thus, he smiled as he caught the gaze of his adversary among the crowd. He hoisted him above all the others in his mind - those were the eyes he wanted on him most. He wanted the detective to witness the performance he had orchestrated simply for his benefit and pleasure. 

He swung himself with a delicate ease back onto the bejewelled platform, the entire apparatus shuddering and creaking. A wounded animal, pleading helplessly for a mercy it would never be afforded. Slowly, methodically, he drew a pistol from his inner pocket, aiming at the ceiling as if he were about to fire a warning shot. His finger curling with a kind of reverence around the trigger, it was time for him to bring down the curtain. His disposition was rife with an energetic glee that could only befall an actor after a stunning performance.

“Au revoir, my darling Akechi. May we meet again in this life or the next!” 

The entire chandelier fell, like a dying star in the peak of supernova. Glass and gold and pride shattering and fracturing as the great mantle crashed in a rolling ball of fire, tearing itself apart. Crushed into a million shining pieces that lit the hall with the final flame of it’s dying vanity. The smoke that rose from its smouldering remains the wispy cloak under which the gentleman thief alighted. 

Goro staggered back, screams and smoke rushing past him at the speed of wind as he shielded his eyes from the blast with his arm. He held the carnage in his gaze with a sickness that brought iron bands tight around his chest. The true nature of the damage he had caused, unfurling itself to rest at his feet, like the water that now licked at his heels. It traced the outline of his soles as his fury set in.

The fountain, upon which Akira Kurusu’s coveted diamond had observed the evening, had split. Its great pristine form crushed, kowtowing in meek submission under the weight that had befallen it. The boneless skeleton of the chandelier mingling with its remains, twisting into the marble and water - a perverted tapestry; and a disgraceful oversight on his part. The mangled rubble piled in the centre of the gathering was trickling water onto the surface on the floor. A pitiable approximation of its former grandeur. 

The jewel had been ripped away, disgraced and stolen, leaving its pseudo defender to wallow in the hollowness of his defeat. He had the distinct feeling that he was being scrutinized. A mouse, held by the tail by a mischievous cat. Made to observe the futility of all his attempts, played with for the amusement of a worthless criminal.

Among the suffocating cloud of chaos that rose from the venue, his eyes placed a fraction of movement high up on the second floor. He turned briskly on his heel. Determination pulled him forward step by step until he was running, his wounded pride binding his better senses as he gave chase to this arbiter of his failure. His hand skimmed the outline of the winding bannister, his feet pounding the stairs before him as he drew closer to the assailant, glimpsing the edge of a trailing cloak as it slipped around a corner. 

“Kurusu!”

His shoes found the railing along the edge of the second floor with a jolt. A balcony that oversaw a drop down to the ground floor that was outlined with four identical platforms on each side. His hands braced bitterly against the balustrade, gloves cutting into polished wood. Akira stood before him, examining him with a bemused expression, a few yards away. 

“Detective, I am truly honoured that you would pursue me up to this point. You know the high regard in which I hold you, but I'm afraid, in the interest of preserving the dignity of a treasured friend, I must here draw the line in the sand.”

He swiped the air with his cane, pressing it to the ground beside to carve the invisible line between them.

“Yes - I proclaim it wholeheartedly, for I am Akira Kurusu! My escape shall be as inevitable as the fall of dusk, as my reputation precedes me. So if you proceed any further your defeat will be a preordained disaster.”

Goro drew his revolver, at a point-blank range. Inescapable. Final. The arrogance of the gentleman thief would fall in scarlet ribbons at his feet.

Yet his adversary simply cocked his head quizzically. His next, sultry words curled his lips into a smirk.

“Mon Dieu, detective, you are a stubborn fellow….”

He pulled on the brim of his hat. His eyes remaining stern despite the open chiding in his voice.

“I don’t wish to humiliate you.”

He leapt onto the balustrade in a swift motion, the shot grazing the edge of his coat as he poised himself. Balancing himself on the thin wooden ledge with an almost condescending air, he cradled his walking cane like a shining sceptre in his hands.

“Really…? Detective, you are dancing in the footsteps of a fool; and I thought you such a sensible man…” 

In Akechi’s mind, he felt like he had been readily seized by those plying hands, each button of his coat pressed and twisted to see which would make him jolt. He refused to be obsequious under this man’s infuriating whims.

Kurusu ran along the ersatz tightrope with new-found energy spurred by the danger. Jumping a corner over the drop to evade Goro’s pursuit and landing, on a platform made idiosyncratic by the opulent window it underlined, wide and engraved with a tapestry of ornate colour and design. 

“You made a valiant effort, befitting a man of your superior talents, my dearest detective. Yes, I confess it heartily, for Goro Akechi is the only man who can set my heart leaping with the thrill and honour of your contest.”

He stepped backwards, seeming to almost fade into the window, akin to an apparition as Goro held him in a lingering gaze, wanting to pin him there. To hold him in eternal reverence and decipher the inner workings of this criminal enigma. Unpick this string that seemed to bind them together as diametrically opposed enemies.

“Farewell, Goro.”

The air erupted in a vibrant cacophony of colour. Glass burst away and rained down in sharp shining shards that seemed to punctuate time with the majesty of their shattering. Akechi extended a hand in a futile bid to pull his quarry from the embrace of its spectacular escape. Even as the window frame was unravelled into the abstracts of its stained blue and red. Kurusu had leapt from the platform, twisting his body in a swift motion as he flew through the expanse of painted glass, reservations completely absent in his bravado as he reached out to grasp his freedom. Then he was obscured from sight, as the carnage of his exit blinded the detective in a fragmented array. 

Akechi uttered a breathless oath as the thief vanished. He rushed to the remains of the destroyed window with a pleading terror in his heart that didn’t meld with his earlier resentment of a fated rival.

“The madman has killed himself...”

The thought resounded in his head as he steadied himself against nausea. Gazing out into the dark canvas of the night sky, he searched for his adversary among the stars as his throat was seized by encompassing grief that he couldn’t quite grasp.

A sound called his eyes upwards, a grinding of shoes on the platform above. Kurusu, alive and unflinching, heaving himself up onto the rooftop with casual ease only to begin running along the tiles and out of Goro’s peripheries.

“Kurusu!” 

He called out to him, his twisted sense of relief for the man flaring into blazing anger as he felt himself once again being puppeteered around like a mule. Before his rationality could reign him in, he had stood on the frame of the desecrated window, catching himself as his heels rocked haphazardly on the edge. He flitted his eyes between his own stance and the far away slant of the roof, comparing distance and weighing his nerve against the tightening band that the growing cold wound around him. Cowardice was ranked amongst the many traits that he had long since expunged. However, the rising wisps of chilling breeze that seemed to wind down to an endless drop were undeniably uncomfortable.

He thought again of the carefree flight with which the gentleman had departed, mastering his resolve. He refused to be bested by the confidence of scrum. The maneuver would be an arduous one, but he was an agile man in his own right. Strengthened to the point of recklessness by this challenge, he launched himself off of the building. Elation and regret mingled as they gripped his heart, and inky blackness rushed to meet him. For a moment, he understood the wings of the free soul that would pursue such a daring and lawless existence. Snapping himself out of this hypnotic state, he made a concentrated effort to turn his body as he descended. Clawing, with a measure of desperation he found indignant, at the brim of the roof. He breathed a deep, shuddering sigh of calm as his fingers closed around the drain pipe. For a moment he hung there, suspended on the precipice of silence. Then, securing his other hand to render himself stable, he pulled himself with all of his strength up onto the second stage of their contest.

“Kurusu!”

He repeated the call that had gone unheeded for so long, his shoulders heaving with the efforts of his labour as his feet grooved themselves into roof tiles. The figure ahead of him was outlined as a slender silhouette against the shuttered curtains of the night.

“So you crave to seek humiliation at my hand?”

The thief turned to face his opponent. Undeterred by Akechi’s presence and coy with an expression that conveyed a lack of surprise. Even an expectance in his appearance.

“I give you ample warning. Generous even, yes, generous indeed. Yet you still chose to engage your defeat, in a mockery of your respectable character.”

He let out a noise of pity, twisting his cane absent-mindedly as if this whole affair was simply a scolding.

“Perhaps it was your pride that compelled you to such foolishness. I must observe that as your one fatal flaw, my friend.”

He pondered on the remark for a few moments before raising his face to look Goro sharply in the eyes. A self-deprecating laugh filling the space between them.

“Although I must say, the pride and honour I feel in the prospect of overcoming you in this contest are bountiful and priceless at a measure greater than any spoils of robbery. I do admit, the great detective before me is a fine man indeed, perhaps the only man I truly fear. Certainly the only man worthy of the name: ‘Rival of Akira Kurusu'. Thus, we shall remain entwined like this, inexorable in seeking out the company and combat of the man which we call our equal.” 

The clouds above them were herded on invisible strings, swirled into an ominous silver mass that suffocated the night as they dyed the sky a foreboding, thundery grey.

“My,”

Kurusu held his palm outward, watching with a kind of semi-detached bemusement as drops of rain deepened the crimson of his glove.

“I say, sir. I am afraid we are going to get rather wet… I trust you are not adverse?”

Water began to splash down onto the surrounding tiles like an orchestral symphony. A steady drum and trickle as the roof was flooded was an underlying accompaniment to the final act of this play.

“Not at all.”

For the first time during the evening, Goro had found his footing. Standing as a true equal, no longer entranced by the fable of an unbeatable foe. He had pulled the master from the stage, away from any chance of conjuring a trick or mysterious vanishing act. With the glamour of the limelight evading him, Kurusu may be implacable, but perhaps he was indeed fallible.

“Admirable, Monsieur. You are a man undeterred. For that, I salute you.”

He began to undo the buttons of his tailcoat with the air of a man committing a courtesy, brushing droplets from his quickly dampening shoulders.

“However, as I am sure you have observed, I am a man of refined and splendid taste; and therefore do not wish to soil this coat.”

He pulled it swiftly from his body, folding it neatly under one arm, and returned to his accustomed posture, steadied against his cane. Even as his undershirt was spotted with the transparent gems of rain.

The detective almost laughed at the infuriating frivolity of it, pacing forward over slickening clay and producing his gun, more for appearance than intent. Even as the seemingly calm appearance of the man he was cornering shook his confidence a fraction.

“If it were not for the apparent genius you wield in your craft, I would label you an idiot.”

“Ah.”

Akira raised a finger, a correcting hand that would have characterized a friendly debate. A gesture that would have appeared harmless if it were not for the sudden glint in his eyes.

“There, my dearest detective, you commit a grave miscategorisation. For I am not an idiot, but a fool. Not one of folly or ignorance, but one of thrill and delight. A vessel of adventure and recklessness, but by no means stupidity as you so cruelly state. A trickster of infinite potential! I may cast my youth and vigour to the four winds of heaven and fly free among them, unrestrained by any law or chain. This is the path of life down which I stride; the one on which we now converge as enemies.”

“An interesting ethos indeed.”

Akechi stepped closer still, the muzzle of his revolver hovering at point-blank range. His body was now being pelted with a barrage of water that was beginning to drown his clothes.

“Or perhaps it is simply a weak philosophical veneer that you use to deny the nature of your own criminal life.”

“Mon Dieu, my friend, you insult me. Why should I play submissive to the law as you do, when the law has done nothing to deserve my service? You label me a thief, and, in a sense, it is true - I despoil the ungrateful of that which they are complacent in. 

That which you are complacent in.”

He added with a touch of snide that made Goro’s blood run cold through his veins as the accusatory implications tightened around his heart.

“I am simply an executor of justice. I cannot allow you to keep conducting this fantasy of a vigilante hero while you indulge in selfishness!”

Akira shook his head, pausing to pull his hat down in a motion that failed to quite hide the flash of disappointment that dulled his expression.

“Very well.”

The trickster took his tailcoat in his hand and threw it with an absurd level of theatrical drama. The apparatus sailed through the air on the high winds, falling away from the roof.

“What happened to preserving the cleanliness of your fine coat?”

The detective asked with a slight edge of mockery that Kurusu seemed to ignore as he adjusted his gloves with a focused reverence, caressing his knuckles as if preparing for a confrontation.

“It is not advisable to engage in combat while holding one’s coat, detective.”

“Combat? You wish to settle this in strength as opposed to wit?”  
He cocked his head, eyeing the pistol swinging absently from Akira’s hip with a kind of puzzlement as the man instead took his cane up in both palms.

“Watching an opponent during combat may be the best insight into their wit.”

He supplied, flexing his fingers as his eyes met Goro’s with an impatient excitement. 

“Now, detective, come at me with all the force will can provide you.”

With that declaration, he swung his cane in a horizontal curve that caught Goro in the chest and sent him staggering backwards. His spiral into distortion worsened as Kurusu seemed to apparate behind him, knocking him to the cold of the rain-spattered tiles. He twisted around, squeezing the trigger of his revolver reflexively so a burst of white illuminated the sky, missing Kururu’s briefly visible figure by a fraction as he turned to run. Akechi stumbled to his feet, partially winded by the consecutive blows as he gave chase.

Catching Akira by the arm, he pulled the man around to face him in a grip like a vice of iron bands. His fingers digging into his wrist as he levelled his gun.

“Must you be as irritatingly persistent as a cockroach?”

He hissed, his rival’s smile remaining unflinching even as the cloth of his sleeve creased beneath Goro’s unrelenting grasp.

“You are unable to face that you are beaten, Monsieur. That above all traits you yourself possess, I am the superior man, and that your essential undoing will be your interest, your primal fascination with me, The gentleman thief Akira Kurusu-”

“Do you ever cease this endless talk?!” 

Akechi’s face was stricken with anger as those words reverberated through the chambers of his soul. Surprise caught him as Akira shook off his hand, toppling the aim of his revolver with a knock from his cane. The detective’s line of sight was blocked repetitively by Kurusu’s nimble mastery of his weapon; spun at a blinding speed between his fingers.

“Detective.”

The trickster's voice was imbued with an unusual somberness. He beat Goro backwards at a steady, disorientating rhythm, a barrage of light attacks that robbed him of any chance to retaliate.  
“It saddens me that we must meet in this way. As long as our sides oppose, we can never reconcile as allies. We occupy opposite sides of the fence. We may converse for a time, it is true-”

He halted his enemy in his path, pressing the cane to bar across his shoulders, holding steady as Goro applied contrasting pressure.

“But the wall between us is stark. The hand of destiny has dealt us diametrically rivalled cards. Perhaps a difference in circumstance could have damned us friends, lovers, even.”

The detective’s greater strength won the skirmish and Akira was made to retreat until his heels brushed the very edge of their precarious stage. Goro’s revolver now held parallel to the gentleman’s neck, their back and forth was seemingly underlined in conclusion. 

“So… that is your answer.”

His expression returned to that portrait of ironic slyness that had so vexed Goro in every encounter they had shared.

“It is a shame, Monsieur, but I suppose we must here return to our previous roles. The detective shall pursue the thief, and the thief shall evade him. Even make sport of the detective, if he is able - and I assure you, Goro, I am very able.”

He reached up to grip Akechi by his collar, holding him steadfast in tandem with the other man’s hold on him. The gentleman examined his face with a refined curiosity that could only manifest in a robber perusing his stolen jewels. 

“How did you enjoy tonight's performance, detective? It was my honour to provide you with the most esteemed seating.”

“Invitation?”

There was a fleeting blip in Goro’s anger as it was marred by confusion.

“Why, yes! I hand wrote the letter, and my trusted confidant delivered it to you. I wished to inform you of my grand escapade tonight, of course.”

He framed the words with an ignorant air that was underpinned by sardonicism, denying his joy in the trick he had played.

“I couldn’t allow my greatest patron to miss it.”

As he had suspected. His very object in coming here had been orchestrated, played out in predicted steps by Kurusu’s careful fingers.

Akira was slipping now, his heels skidding the dripping roof tiles as he danced on the edge of a fatal drop. For an interminable moment, the hand of time seemed to pause. Fate watched with bated breath to see what they would do in the milliseconds before destiny prised them apart with her cold, unforgiving hands. All external workings of the world held still to observe before the stage fell silent. 

In the space of those fleeting frames of existence, Akira Kurusu pulled his adversary to him and pressed their lips together. The flitting warmth spread between them a concoction of complications that any attempts of human lexicon couldn’t quite capture. An equal signifier of passion and of an idiosyncratic brand of competition, a promise of rivalry wrapped in the softness of this affection. In pondering moments afterwards, Goro would never be able to determine whether or not he had reciprocated. The entire string of memories plunged in a running stream of an elation that he couldn't name - or perhaps didn’t wish to fully consider.

Then he was gone. Falling away into the pit of misery that the night spiralled down beneath Akechi’s feet. Swallowed into a cold solitude so far removed from the light that his personality exuded like the rays of an omnipresent star. Disappearing like the finest diamond dust through the detective’s outstretched fingers and into the endless hourglass below, his hands grasping at invisible wisps in the air. 

He gazed as the leather outlining the back of his hand. Reaching out for a way to untangle the thousands of thorns that choked his heart in a merciless snare. It was then he noticed he was no longer holding the walking cane. In his haze, he realised Akira must have pulled it from him as he fell. They would find it, when they looked, to determine forensic evidence. Laying next to his crumpled form, a tribute for his final resting place, marking the sharp stop to his life. He shook the chill that snaked up his spine, pushing the morbid whispers from his mind. His brain scattered in an innumerable amount of potent emotions he couldn’t quell. He was soaked through to the bone, staring into the void of Kurusu’s drop until he stung with the nagging pinch of cold.

Then he turned, pacing with hollow solidarity to the other end of the roof. The site of the shattered window a foreboding ghost of the night now that the conclusion had been seen.

The mist and dark shrouded his vision as he walked, an illusion only broken as he reached the opposite edge, and the moon threw pale beams of white onto the buildings below. 

“Until we next meet, my dear detective...”

Kurusu. Kurusu, alive, appeared like a phantom in the night. Highlighted in a glowing white that shone through the chance of delusion. Standing as an oasis given flesh on the opposite roof, his cane cradled in hand and his tailcoat was done up to pristine condition.

He folded one crimson glove over his still-beating heart, bowing to Akechi in a gesture the other man was only separate from by the triviality of the street.

“I pray you keep yourself in the finest possible health and give my warmest regards to my good friends in the police force. They know me to provide the finest company, as I’m sure you do.”

As he spoke, he turned and produced a shimmering object and twisted it absently to contrast against his scarlet gloves. Every surface of its geometrical form glinted under their shared glow. The beacon of aristocratic beauty. 

The diamond.

“Au revoir, my dearest Goro.”

With that departing remark, he turned, dissolving into the night. His footsteps echoing back into the tales of his infamy.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I finished it!  
> This was my written contribution to the Shuake big bang 2020, and the first fic I’ve posted. It’s been a lot of fun. ^-^  
> I’m gonna try to write more stuff going forward too.  
> I am a massive fan of the Arsène books. Go read them, they're really fun. If you have read them, I snuck in a lot of references, so point them out in the comments if you're inclined.


End file.
